Floating Madhouse Read online

  ‘That’s the British view, is it?’

  ‘Well – yes…’

  ‘You have observers with the Jap fleet, one’s heard.’

  ‘I’ve heard so, too.’

  ‘Well.’ A hand up, rubbing his bony, clean-shaven face. ‘About Klado and his nonsensical theories, anyway – you can imagine how your friend Selyeznov reacts to them. He’s a know-all himself, of course, but at least he did see action, out there. While on the subject of wiping out an admiral’s staff, it would be one way of dealing with the overcrowding in our wardroom, wouldn’t it – but imagine what it must be like in that senior officer’s mess. Klado pontificating, Selyeznov snarling and biting his moustache, Zenovy Petrovich shouting them all down—’

  ‘And Clapier de Colongue pouring oil?’

  ‘Oozing charm. Yes, that’s his job…’

  * * *

  He was up there again in the afternoon with Narumov, the engineer-constructor having expressed interest in seeing something of England’s southern coastline, especially having one of its denizens on hand to tell him whatever it might be he was looking at. As it happened, Beachy Head’s high chalk promontory was abeam at that time, the South Downs humped greenish against a patchy sky to the left of it.

  ‘There are people all over that headland, Mikhail Ivan’ich!’

  ‘They’ll be English. Sets your teeth on edge, does it?’

  He borrowed his binoculars back, and there were a lot of people on the Head. Sunday, he remembered – families taking the air.

  Or flocking to watch the Russian bullies pass?

  Time – by Anna Feodorovna’s extravagant present – coming up for two-thirty. The general populace could hardly have heard the news this soon. In London they might have, but in the wilds of Sussex?

  He passed the glasses back. ‘Family outings, Sunday picnics. It’s a favourite spot. Not only for relaxing, but also for suicides.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Entirely. Dramatically high cliffs – close on six hundred feet, as far as I remember.’

  ‘You see some place that’s high, you want to jump off it?’

  ‘Well – if circumstances have given you the inclination—’

  ‘Meanwhile they’re getting a free show, those people, seeing us pass by. Do you truly believe war is brewing in what passes for the English heart?’ A gesture towards Beachy Head: ‘In their hearts?’

  ‘They aren’t likely to have had the news yet. Although I expect it’ll be known in London by this time. It’s possible they’ve heard, I suppose. If so, they’re watching us steam by filling the sky with smoke and telling their children, “There go the monsters who go around murdering fishermen!” I dare say the newspapers will have got the story – not that any are published on Sunday afternoons or evenings – but the news agencies – Reuters, for instance – will have telegraphed it, oh, world-wide.’

  ‘Reuters and also Havas.’

  ‘Havas putting out the Russian version – the lies about torpedo-boats. How’s your own despatch going?’

  ‘My letter to my wife? Well, recent events I’ve not touched on yet. I’m concerned to tell the truth – since these are despatches, in a way, and may become part of a full-length narrative, in the course of time – and there is an element of doubt – in private as we are I can admit it. Dr Nyedozorov’s view for instance contradicts just about all others – except yours, obviously: but how to describe it all with certainty—’

  ‘I hadn’t realized you had doubts, Pavel Vasil’ich.’

  ‘Well, in the wardroom for instance – you should bear in mind that since I’m neither a sailor nor a nobleman I’m in any case somewhat isolated…’

  ‘Best keep the doubts to yourself.’

  ‘Exactly. About my letter, though, I’d better get down to it. I’ll tell her the facts as I see them now, that’s all. I must have it ready for when we reach Brest – since between now and then I might be busy with some new emergency. And there’s plenty to write about, other than last night’s action – this sight of England, for instance… From the other side, is France in view as well?’

  ‘Barely. All of forty miles away. But later, Barfleur and Cherbourg, on the Cotentin Peninsula.’ Anna’s watch again: ‘Two-thirty now. About a hundred miles – at thirteen knots, seven and a half hours. No – we’ll be passing it in darkness.’

  ‘And Brest?’

  ‘Fifteen to seventeen hours after that – if all goes well. About this time tomorrow, say.’

  ‘Do you have a chart and all the distances in your head?’

  ‘Sort of. Familiar waters, these. But it’s guesswork, isn’t it – the Oryol might break down again, for instance.’

  ‘She never completed her trials, you know.’ Shrugging, lowering the glasses. ‘Effectively, went straight from the builders’ yard to join us in Reval. What a muddled business it’s been… Look, I think I will go down now, but first let’s just see if France is visible at all?’

  Over to the port side: and both of them surprised at the sight not of France, but of a warship that was already close and steering as if to intercept. Or ram, even – all things being possible, as one was learning… He focused the glasses on her.

  Cruiser – black with three yellow funnels. Russian ensign. Coming fast, high bow-wave creaming, doing twenty or twenty-five knots, he guessed. Helm over now, beginning a turn to port – either to turn away or to fall in on this same course – close on this flagship’s beam, perhaps. He’d guessed right, too – she was heeling hard over in executing the fast, sharp turn: was easing her helm now and cutting her speed suddenly, dramatically: you saw the rapidly diminishing bow-wave and her own rolling wake overtaking her as she fell into station a cable’s length on the beam and a string of signal-flags broke at her starboard upper yard.

  Rather stylishly done, he thought. Looking for’ard then, seeing what could only be Rojhestvensky’s immensity leaning out from the port side of the forebridge, waving his cap – and the cruiser’s captain doing the same.

  Zakharov?

  ‘What is it? A cruiser, I can see that, but—’

  ‘I think –’ studying details of this and that, mainly her armament – ‘it might be the Ryazan.’

  * * *

  Jane Henderson wrote, sitting at the small Sheraton writing-table in her sitting-room on the manor’s first floor,

  Have had no news from you yet, but I dare say there may be a letter in the post from somewhere or other – at least one for Let’s Not Say Whom, and I dare hope you would have put in a little note to me too, while you were at it. You might have written before you set off from wherever it was, which I forget – oh, Libau, which is in Lithuania, I looked it up in the big atlas – but from there I suppose you might have written in the ordinary post direct to Yalta. In any case, there’s one for you from her, and I’m really only writing now to enclose it. Her hand-writing in English on the envelope is very copperplate, is it not? I was going to say ‘copybook’ but you might take that to mean ‘schoolgirlish’ and take serious offence. All right, I’ll admit, she can write in English, that much anyway, and I certainly could not in Russian: so she’s one up on me there too. Changing the subject back again, however, we read in The Tirana Times a week ago that your squadron under its Admiral Rogersvoski (?) had sailed from Libau for Port Arthur; and where you may be now, heaven knows. I will be most interested to hear from you, and all about whatever you’re doing, so I repeat, dear Michael, please don’t only send me letters to HER.

  But what else now? Well, your mother’s in good health, would surely send you her love if she had any idea that I might be writing to you; and George is in his usual boisterous health and

  She started at a knock on the door. Less a knock in fact than a bang. Murmuring to herself as she slid the letter into the blotter and checked that Tasha’s was out of sight, ‘Speak of the devil…’

  ‘Come in, George!’

  ‘Hah.’ He’d been on his way in before she’d invited him.
‘Writing home?’

  ‘On the point of doing so. For the life of me, though, my brain’s addled – can’t think of a single interesting thing to say!’

  ‘I’m sure I can’t help. Except perhaps your sister having yet another baby?’

  ‘They’ll know about that, George.’

  ‘Well – Johnny swotting away for his entrance examination? And that capital run we had yesterday? Eh? Like to hear about that, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Doubt it – but I dare say I could fill a page with it. Yes, thank you, that is a help.’

  ‘Not what I came up for though. About quite another. From old Igor Volodnyakov – didn’t mention it, did I?’

  ‘No, George, you didn’t.’

  ‘It came yesterday and I put it aside, but I’ve just taken a gander at it – a surprise, you know, not having heard from the old boy in, oh, God knows how long. Mama does, once in a blue moon don’t you know, but—’

  ‘Did he write to you about anything special?’

  ‘About Michael, partly. Primarily though about young Tasha, who’s become engaged to some Russian naval fellow – who, reading between the lines, either Igor or his nephew the admiral found for her.’

  ‘Isn’t she rather young to be engaged?’

  ‘I suppose she is. But the fellow’s as rich as Croesus, apparently. Going to bring a mint of money into that rundown estate, he hints – as though it were just fortuitous. I’m probably not supposed to tell you that – keep it under your hat, eh? He’s as pleased as Punch, of course!’

  ‘It sounds to me like an unpleasantly mercenary transaction. What does it have to do with Michael?’

  ‘Well, there’s the rub, as they say. What he says is – more or less, you can see the letter if you like – silly of me, should have brought it up with me – he seems to be suggesting that Michael’s nose may have been put out of joint, that he had hopes concerning Tasha. Huh? Dash it, she’s still a child, isn’t she? Well – as you said… If he had any such thought in mind, it’s the first I’ve heard of it. Did he ever come out with anything of that sort in your hearing?’

  ‘There’s no reason he would have, George.’

  ‘No. He’d have told me though, I’d have thought… Anyway – Prince Igor felt he needed taking out of himself, and that’s why he gave him the chance of going on this extraordinary voyage. He admits it might be a risky business – says he hadn’t given a thought to that when he issued the invitation – and Michael being a sailor anyway—’

  ‘Dreadfully risky, I thought as soon as I heard of it. Your mother’s extremely concerned for him too. She tried persuade him against it in fact – when he was here the other week—’

  ‘Didn’t mention the girl then, did he?’

  ‘Not to me – as I just told you.’

  ‘Or seem down in the dumps at all?’

  ‘Michael? Down in the dumps?’

  ‘I suppose I’d better write to him. Tell him if he did have any such ideas he’d do best to put ’em out of mind double-quick. That’s what Igor’s hoping I’ll do – or so I deduce… See what you make of it. But I’ll do that anyway. Although where one would send a letter with any hope of it reaching him—’

  ‘I’ve no idea, George.’

  When he’d gone, she added to her letter:

  recently. Anyway – it’s said. And you’ll probably be hearing from your concerned elder brother in due course – if he finds an address to write to, on which question of course I couldn’t help…

  STOP PRESS. George has just been up to tell me he’s had a letter from Prince Igor V. telling him of T’s engagement and that he (Igor) suspected it might have ‘put Michael’s nose out of joint’, which is why he offered you the chance of going out East with their precious squadron. George thinks the purpose of the letter was to get him to write to you and advise you to drop any ideas you may have had about You Know Who. I, of course, am no less surprised than George that you should have had any such feelings, or intentions. Joking apart, Michael dear, I feel deep down that no good at all can come of it: as I said when you were here – and you poo-poo’d it, but since then there have been several newspaper articles expressing the same view – the expedition you’re embarked on is virtually suicidal, while on this other issue – which must be blinding you to that reality – Michael my dearest, the girl is only just out of school, how could anyone of her age and lack of worldly experience even guess at how she’ll feel about anything at all in, say, a year’s time? I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to nag you about any of this – although it’s spoiled my sleep more than a few times recently. Anyway – it’s said. And you’ll probably be hearing from your concerned elder brother in due course – if he finds an address to write to, on which question of course I couldn’t help…

  8

  The Ryazan had steamed alongside the flagship for about twenty minutes, during which time Michael had gone up to the forebridge in the hope of finding out what was going on. He’d visited the navigator, Sidorenko, in his chartroom, and Sidorenko had considerately offered to go and find the chief of staff – leaving Michael waiting on the port side of the signal deck, in sight and earshot of Rojhestvensky and Zakharov bawling at each other through megaphones – which distorted their voices to such an extent that he couldn’t pick up enough consecutive words to make sense of any of it. Meanwhile Zakharov was conning his ship in even closer – to no more than a hundred yards or slightly less, Michael, even without glasses, recognizing the face he’d last seen at Injhavino – wide, heavy jaw, face narrowing upwards to deep-sunk eyes crowding a large, straight nose: Nikolai Timofeyevich Zakharov, whose presence at Injhavino and whose manipulation by Tasha’s father had effectively flung her and Michael into each other’s arms.

  Should be grateful to him, perhaps? Might otherwise have held back too long – out of sensitivity over the age business – and missed the boat? But – listening again, at this closer range picking up more of the shouted megaphone exchanges. There’d been talk of coaling, and of the destroyers leaving Cherbourg – and the admiral had now congratulated Zakharov on his promotion to Captain First Rank. Which in itself was news – another strand in the deal of course. A reflection, then: wasn’t Prince Igor going to expect his quid pro quo? Or one might say roubles pro quo… Speculation – and megaphone conversation – interrupted then by the firing of a line from the Ryazan’s foc’sl break; from what might have been a Coston gun, as used in the Royal Navy – the same bark of the hand-held gun’s discharge, then a Turk’s Head weight on the end of the soaring line lodging itself over the receiving ship’s guardrail, sailors down there grabbing it and hauling it in, with a stronger line following it and after that a steel-wire rope which, rigged tautly between jackstays, had a mailbag slung from it on a ‘traveller’, which was rapidly pulled over.

  Mail? One to him from Jane/Tasha, even? This soon? Brought to him, at that, virtually by the hand of her damn ‘betrothed’.

  Clapier de Colongue was with him then: murmuring as they followed Sidorenko back to the chartroom, ‘Of course – it was in the Ryazan you were supposed to have embarked. To tell you the truth, it had slipped my mind. One hears you’ve made many friends on board, we’ve come to think of you as one of ourselves.’

  ‘Kind of you to say so, sir. It’s true I’ve come to know some of them quite well – they’re all most hospitable. But in the present circumstances – knowing nothing of what’s going on between London and St Petersburg—’

  ‘You’re thinking of your position here not simply in terms of transferring to the Ryazan, then. No, I understand. Although in Brest, perhaps – if we do call there—’

  ‘Is there some doubt?’

  ‘There’s no certainty. As you say, the outcome of any dialogue between Petersburg and London – and of course, if as neutrals the French insisted on strict observance of the legalities – in which with the world’s eyes on them they might feel they had no option—’

  ‘So where would we coal?’

  ‘–
but even if we do go into Brest – forgive me – there’s no certainty the Ryazan would join us there. Her immediate destination, as you may have heard—’

  ‘No—’

  ‘– the vicinity of Cherbourg. She’ll rendezvous off Barfleur with a collier, then escort our destroyers and the Korea – who should be leaving Cherbourg this evening – to – oh, Vigo, possibly, otherwise—’

  ‘Will the Spaniards let them in?’

  ‘Lieutenant—’

  ‘I’m sorry. One question after another…’

  ‘The questions are fully justified, the problem is providing answers. It’s all very much in the air. Your own people’s reactions to recent events – which in turn might well influence the attitudes taken by France and Spain… I’ll tell you what, Genderson – I’ll ask Captain Selyeznov to keep you informed. When we ourselves know anything that might affect your own situation…’

  ‘That would be very kind. Meanwhile may I ask one more question?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘If we don’t put into Brest, where do we coal?’

  ‘Where – on the English coast here. When – in not much more than an hour’s time. Colliers are there already, the second division’s taking coal from them at this moment.’

  Michael said – smiling, almost disbelieving – ‘But that’s – surely, in the circumstances—’

  ‘Extraordinary, isn’t it? Quite extraordinary. But none the less… What’s pre-arranged, I suppose – with the Hamburg-Amerika Line of course—’

  ‘There.’ Sidorenko stretching across the chart, pointed with a pencil-tip: ‘That’s the rendezvous position.’

  Off Brighton: three miles south of the New Palace Pier. In international waters – just – but still twisting the lion’s tail. At least, as the lion would see it…

  * * *